


Her colours

by Gabriel4Sam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: And I mean one dressed and not the other, F/M, Obi-Wan staying on Mandalore when they are young, Padawan Obi-Wan, Possessive Satine, half-clothed sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 18:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriel4Sam/pseuds/Gabriel4Sam
Summary: A cleaned-up, longer, sexier version on a prompt on my kink meme: Obi-Wan and Satine, special outfit.A young Satine is surprised when Obi-Wan chooses to stay and things go from there...





	Her colours

 

The first time she had seen Obi-Wan, he was wearing the muted beige of the Jedi Order, an incalculable number of tunics in some rough fabric whose folds served at the same time to hide him and to mark him.

Here is a Jedi, less an individual, more a part of whole, a cog in the Order machine, the weight of the Order behind him.

Here is a Jedi, don’t touch, for he is Other.

Then, in the long year on the run that they had known, she had seen him wearing common clothes, stolen, bartered, brought. She had seen wearing almost nothing when she had made stitches on his tight when they were out of bacta, when they had bathed in creeks, later when they had listened to their desire more than to common sense and fallen in bed together.

And now, here they were.

Tonight, the Jedi were leaving and she would sit alone on her throne, her pride be damned. She should have asked and now it was too late and she would never see him again.

The sound of steps, the sound of his walk, and she turned, and let a cry fly.

He wasn’t wearing his Jedi regalia again.

No, Padawan Kenobi was dressed head to toe from Kryze’s colours and that only accentuated how pale he was.

“I know…” His voice derailed but he started again. “I know I’m making assumptions, but I thought…I thought perhaps you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to make me choose. Because…you respected… I…”

She threw herself into his arms.

“Stay. Stay, stay with me my Ben. Be my consort. Stay with me, I swear you can be happy here, I swear Mandalore is more that the violence you saw…”

He was laughing and crying at the same time and when she yanked on his head and kissed him, it was more an attack than anything, she devoured his mouth with rage, like she was dying of thirst and he was an oasis.

“I’m yours, if you would have me.” He promised between kisses, his voice hoarse and she promised herself he would never regret it.

She pushed him on the nearest couch, a hard monstrosity with an incongruous colour, and took his mouth again. Her urgency had touched Obi-Wan and he was trying to unlace her dress.

“Should I refuse myself to you to be sure you’ll marry me?” He joked, something a little uncertain in his voice and she suddenly remembered that he had abandoned everything for her. She took his face between his hands and swore: “I would marry you an hundred, a thousand of time, if you wanted sex, if you didn’t, I would marry you and be happy.”

“And if I want sex?”

“Then I would ride you before the entire court assembled to mark you as mine. Every time the state’s business let us a moment of calm, I would make you love me…”

“Perhaps we could wait a little on the public sex? Not sure letting every one of your secretary see my pale ass would be good for my ex-Jedi-seducer-of-naïve-Duchess popularity.”

And suddenly they were laughing, the adrenaline’s level more manageable with laugh. He kissed her again and it was gentle and loving, the scent of the soap he had used and the taste of tea one his tongue. He helped her take all her clothes down, struggling a little with some pieces of them, a frustrated sound escaping his lips before she helped him and she suddenly remembered that he had never before assisted her  in undressing of court clothes. Soon. Soon every piece of traditional dresses she owned would be familiar to him, as if he was one of her handmaiden.

When he started doing the same, opening his tunic, she suddenly protested: “No. Keep them, please.”

“The clothes?”

“Well, you can open your pants.”

Something sparkled in his eyes.

“Do you like me wearing your colours, my dear Duchess?”

She pushed him onto the couch again, climbed on his lap. The blueish yarn-dyed taffeta was a strange, erotic sensation under the fragile skin of her ass and tights and there was, under the crisp fabric, the solid warmth of Obi-Wan, the promise of his muscles and skin.

“If it would be agreeable to you, my husband, my Consort, I would have you wearing them for all our lives.”

He took a hard breath, perhaps for her words, perhaps for her promise of always…perhaps simply because he was a man in love whose lover was naked on his lap. In their kisses heat started to build. She simply opened his pants, caressing him until he was hard enough.

“I will wear them for you.” Obi-Wan was swearing. “Every day of our lives. Everyone will see them, everyone will know I’m yours.”

He gasped in her mouth when she guided him into her. She was so wet, more than she ever had been, even with him, and her desire for that man, that man abandoning everything for her and only her, was so strong that it made her breath hitch in her throat.

She began to ride, him, slowly at first, and the fabric of his clothes against her skin was the perfect counterpoint to the hard sex piercing her. She chased her pleasure without mercy, as she always had and the mouth under her was pliant under her assault. She had had lovers before him, and as he hadn’t, she had taught him well how she preferred it: he didn’t try to command the rhythm, simply accompanied it, his hips raising to meet hers, and when she guided his hand, his fingers immediately found her parted folds, found her clit, two of them massaging it slowly when his other hand was crisped on her hips.  

It wouldn’t take long, strung tight as a wire as they were, but it wasn’t a performance, or an exam, just a celebration. The celebration of her victory on the Jedi Order, of all the years they would have.

Under her, Obi-Wan was perfect. The pure need written across his face, the red on his cheeks, his breath short, the colour of his eyes more striking with the blue and grey of House Kryze’s colours, his sex hard in her and his needy moans…

And he was hers, hers, hers, and she chanted it, promised it, in every breath, every word, at every move of her body on his, digging her nails into the fabric bunching at his shoulders. His mouth was raining kisses on her throat and the pleasure was climbing higher. She would have him, keep him, her beautiful Consort, she would crown him and her heirs would be of his blood, and he would raise them and love them, protecting them as she was building a better Mandalore for them…

Yes, the Jedi had had their chance and had missed it, let him go.

Now, he was hers and she promised she would keep him and have him for every day of their lives and Obi-Wan gave himself, mind, soul and body, until the day the Force would take them.


End file.
